Todd's Cavalcade of Whimsy

So I was watching my new DVD of Return of the Jedi last night. It's interesting watching something that was such a gigantic part of my childhood through the eyes of an adult. I still love the movies, don't get me wrong (and don't get me started on the new Star Wars movies). But it's odd the things that I wonder about now that I'm a grown-up.

Throughout most of Return of the Jedi, the mighty, fearsome Emperor is sitting in a high tower in his cool chair, staring out of a window at the construction of the new Death Star and the ensuing battle that will take place over the moon of Endor. He has hatched a major, malicious plan to quell an entire rebellion and convert our hero Luke to the Dark Side of the Force.

The thing I noticed, though, is that he never appears to leave his futuristic Barcalounger. He just sits in that high-backed chair, staring out of that giant window just like most old people do. ("Hey -- you kids! Get off my battle station!!") There's not even a side table to put a drink or some papers on. Just that chair. Doesn't he have an office or anything? Where does he hammer out all of the intricate details of squashing a rebellious uprising? Where does he keep his copy of the plans to the new Death Star? Isn't there a payroll of all the employees of the Empire somewhere? I mean, this is the guy that's in charge of everything from the construction of a planet-sized Weapon of Mass Destruction to the vision of the entire known universe. Yet nary a Post-It note saying something like, "RE: Stormtrooper uniforms. Can we outsource to Dantooine??" or one of those "While You Were Out" slips with "D. Vader called @ 11:30; wants to know which moon he was meeting Luke on."

In fact, it seems like most of the evil geniuses in movies just sort of hang out, sitting in their super-cool moving chairs. Never in a James Bond movie does an evil henchman enter the office of his leader only to have the leader say, "Wow..I am so sorry Steve. I'm just buried in this paperwork trying to figure out how to fund this gigantic shield that will block out the sun. Have you seen my calculator?"

I guess it's just the sort of thing you let go when you watch a movie. If I can accept that every single character can understand Wookie, and the Wookie can understand them but for some reason they don't choose to speak a common language, I can accept that somehow evil rulers get things done from the comfort of their cushie chairs without a pen or paper.

Or maybe I just have to become an evil genius myself to figure out how the whole system works...

Man, do I hate election years. I always have, too. All those ridiculous ads that show the candidate's opponent walking in slow motion, or speaking to a group in slow motion, all done to make said opponent look evil. (And let's face it: people doing things in slow motion always makes them look evil.)

This election year is way worse than they usually are. I think it's because I'm getting older, but I've paid attention to this election more than I usually do. I can't tell you how sick to death I am of hearing things like "Flip-flopper" and "No blood for oil." It seems sad, but most people treat elections and politics like it's a football game. It doesn't matter how crappy your team is or how badly they're doing, you root for them anyway. You root for them loudly, blindly, and annoyingly.

So without devolving too much further into something I know bothers us all, I'm going to offer some respite to ya'll. As corny as this is, it did send a giddy chill though me, and made me feel oh-so-satisfied. I'll admit I giggled like a 4th grader.

So now, without further ado, I present

Slap The Candidate

Have fun, children.

If there's one thing we can all agree on, it's that there is a vast right-wing conspiracy foisted on us by the liberal media elite.

Let's all take a moment to breathe in the stupidity of that statement.
(breathe in...breathe out)

...And we're back. The sentence in question is, obviously, stupid. But that doesn't stop every blowhard with a national talk show from bleating on about it. Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity, Lars Larson, et al. would have us believe that the media is controlled by a group of leftist socialists who spin the news without being, ahem, "Fair and Balanced." (Please, Mr. O'Reilly, don't sue me for using that phrase.) But then we have Al Franken, Janeane Garafalo, Dan Rather, etc., complaining about how the vast right-wing conspiracy is controlling free speech on cable news channels and talk radio.

If I keep hearing people with a nationally syndicated talk show (or frequent guest of one) complain that their side's voice isn't being heard, I'm going to slice off my ears with a rusty fish scaler.

The truth of the situation is simple: People love being affirmed in what they think. That's why I would bet a very, very small percentage of people in any given political party actually listen to or read things that are contrary to what they already "know." Few conservatives read or watch anything they consider to be part of the "liberal bias," and just as few liberals read or watch anything they think is part of the "vast right-wing conspiracy." The exceptions are to find more "ammo" to reinforce their argument. They get their information about the "other guys" from their own news sources, lapping up the affirmation their side gives them in each opinion column and editorial.

This is an important thing to keep in mind. The next time you hear Michael Moore complaining that his side's voice is constantly being silenced, remember that when you see him on the next 12 political talk shows. When you hear Ann Coulter complain about the liberal media Slander and Treason, take special care to note how many weeks her books go to #1 on the New York Times best-seller list.

Americans love to whine. That's not going away. And they'll gather with other people that love whining about the same things. That's human nature. Opposites don't attract; birds of a feather flock together exponentially more. Think about it: how many people who hold ideals, morals, and standards the exact opposite of yours do you hang out with? Maybe a few, if at all. And that's ok. It just needs to be acknowledged, that's all. As much as well all like to celebrate diversity, the truth is we like to hang around people that are similar to us. Which is, again, ok, because it makes sense.

So let's remind everyone to calm down, take a breath, and realize we're all on a pretty equal media playing field. There are more important things we should be complaining about.

Today I almost ran over Ron Jeremy in a parking lot.



I wish there was a great story to go along with that, but that's pretty much it. Just me pulling around in a parking lot, having to stop short because there was Ron "The Hedgehog" Jeremy standing in front of my car.

I wasn't going to mention this encounter, but "Today I almost ran over Ron Jeremy in a parking lot" is at the top of the list of things I never thought I'd say, right after, "Excuse me, Mr. Affleck, I believe you have my flan."

Anywho, just thought I'd pass that along. Do with it what you will.

I work from home, so it falls on me to try to keep order and cleanliness when it comes to the house. Unfortunately, I am nowhere near being any good at it or "caring" about it. I'm not so much a "cleaner" as I am the guy who picks up just enough that, on a quick scan, the house appears clean. But on any sort of closer inspection, my feeble facade breaks down. Thankfully it's often cloudy here in Portland, because when the sun comes out, one can easily see that there's so much dust covering the wood floors that it looks like a shot from the Mars rover. Thank God for inclement weather.

But I do my best to keep things in order and to maintain a semblance of cleanliness. And by "my best," I mean that I don't do my best at all. I have learned quickly that housework is not only mind-numbingly redundant and dull, but also not that rewarding.

I've also learned a few more things. My eyes have been opened to bizarre rituals and secrets that housewives have been keeping for years. Little rules that are never spoken out loud; they're just "known." And when I have violated these rules, I get looks of bewilderment and curiosity from my wife that seem to say, "How can you not know that you're not supposed to use 409 to mop the floors?" (My response, by the way, was, "Because I'm a man and shouldn't be cleaning." Not good. (P.S. -- "Purple Nurples" are every bit as horrifically painful now as they were when we were kids.)) So here's some of the more random rules I've learned about keeping a clean house.

Apparently there are finer distinctions than just "good towels" and "bad towels." Obviously I know enough to not mop up that spilled Fanta with a bath towel. And I even know there are "kitchen wash cloths" and the rags you use to wash the car. What I did not know was that were sub-categories of "nice kitchen washcloths" and "nicer kitchen washcloths." One of the first unwritten rules I encountered was that there are washcloths that you can do dishes or wipe the table with, but you may not use that same washcloth to wipe the counters. Because, as I was told, "We don't want to get them full of cleaning chemicals, do we?" (Bit of advice for men here: Don't answer rhetorical questions. Ever. See the "Purple Nurple" comment above.) So first lesson learned: not all washcloths can actually be used to wash things. Check.

Then there's the issue of clothes. To me, there are two states of clothes: "clean" and "dirty." Sure, dirty clothes is a pretty broad definition, going from "picking them up only with tongs and a HAZMAT suit" to "I can still wear it -- you can hardly see the stain." What I was not aware of, however, was a bizarre and undefined third state of clothing: the "Not Clean but Not Dirty" state. In this state, according to my wife, clothes are not clean enough to be hung up or put away with the clean clothes, but are not dirty enough to go in the hamper with the dirty clothes. At first I thought this was a joke. "If a shirt is so filthy that by merely hanging it up near a clean shirt is going to soil the clean shirt, then it's dirty" was my rationale. Apparenly that was wrong. But what's even more peculiar is that the place for the "Not Clean but Not Dirty" pile is in the middle of the floor, where we proceed to walk over them for the next week, ensuring that they would indeed become filthy. (Cue: "The More You Know" song...)

Another thing I've learned about is the vast conspiracy foisted upon us by the makers of dryer sheets. Yes, dryer sheets. You see, whenever I popped something in the dryer, I foolishly would use a whole pre-portioned dryer sheet from the box. Now, however, I've learned that in order to scam us into over-buying these sheets, the good folks at Bounce and Snuggle have made these dryer sheets larger than they really need to be. Somehow the fabric softener industrial complex aims to control us like puppets by forcing us to make our socks way too springtime fresh. Or something. I still really haven't figured out the logic behind this, but nevertheless I have been instructed to only use part of a dryer sheet at a time by tearing them in half first. (One more PSA for the road: It's probably for the best to keep a response of, "Hey -- you can do it however you want when you wash the clothes" to yourself.)

Live and learn, I suppose. I'm guessing I'm not the first husband to go through this educational process. If I had to patiently explain to her which was the positive and negative posts on a car battery, I guess I can calmly listen to the subtle (read: nonexistent) differences between a serving spoon and a spoon that's just a really big spoon, and why they belong in completely different drawers.

But rest assured, if I ever get really ticked off, I can always gain my revenge by using an entire dryer sheet.